#the local nerd/dork

[super-cosmic-library]

Camboy!Steve Harrington au, where Steve’s majorly successful and decides to treat his boyfriend, Eddie, like his sugar baby. He buys every nerd thing that Eddie expresses interest in.

Steve becomes a regular at the local gaming store, and every time there’s a new employee or customer who hasn’t met him yet, they’re going out of their way to flirt with him. He’s gorgeous AND he knows all about the things he buys? They are tripping over themselves to invite him to join their table top games. But he only knows about the products he buys (and why they’re important) because he loves listening to Eddie ramble on for hours about his interests, which older staff members and regulars know because they’ve heard Steve prattle on about his “baby.”

Even though it’s not his job to spoil Steve, Eddie wants to do it when he can. He loves his boy and the way he pampers him, so he wants to show Steve that he care about him too. So, using the allowance Steve gives him (because Steve insists on being the sole breadwinner so Eddie can focus on his creative talents), he goes to the farmers market to get the best and freshest ingredients he can find to make his boy’s favorite meals. There, he makes friends with all the grannies and the lesbians, trading recipes and gossip. It doesn’t hurt that that’s where his best friend, Chrissy works. She always hides something special for him behind the counter whenever she knows they have an important event or anniversary coming up.

He will also save some of his money up to by Steve special toys and lingerie for his videos. The fellas at the sex/smoke/CBD shop he always goes to are all making bets as to what type of person a guy like him is dating. One of the workers, Argyle, has a hunch that it’s an Only Fans streamer he subscribes to. After all, around a week after Eddie visits, the guy will post a video wearing similar lingerie or playing with similar toys to what Eddie had just bought. (Argyle only remembers his purchases because they spend a lot of time gabbing about this and that.) None of Argyle’s coworkers believe him when he posits his theory because although Eddie looks cool, he’s a total dork and could never pull someone like Steve. And if Argyle hadn’t been blazed out of his mind when it happened, he would have noticed a familiar looking tattooed wrist in the frame of one of Steve’s videos.

[happy74827]

hey are requests open…. If so can I have Dom Matthew Patel x Sub female reader (lime)

Study Buddy

[Matthew Patel x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Things get a little heated after Matthew admits his feelings to you.

WC: 1831

Category: Spice/Lime, Fluff

Matthew as a Dom? Lmfao that’s a new one (personally he gives me total Sub vibes 🤷‍♀️), but a request is a request. Hopefully I wrote it to where you like it :)

『••✎••』

Matthew Patel. A nerd with an affinity for magic. The kind of guy you would see at your local comic book store or performing “One Day More” from Les Mis in an empty movie theatre.

He was also your best friend's ex-boyfriend. He was also currently on top of you.

The two of you were in your dorm room, and you had been studying. It was exam week at college, and you were cramming for your finals when you heard the familiar sound of someone opening your door. You were on the ground, papers, and books splayed out around you. Matthew stood, hands in his pockets.

His mouth hung open slightly as he took a deep breath.

"You're so..." He paused. "I mean, you look so..." He trailed off. You cocked an eyebrow.

"Matty… are you musical theatre-ing me right now? Because if so, I really need to study-"

"No! No, just listen." He said, sitting next to you. You could tell he was nervous, fiddling with his sleeves. "You're beautiful, you're smart, and you're my friend.”

“Uh… huh? Thanks, I guess, but where are you going with this exactly-?" You asked, trying to return to your work. He cut you off, standing.

"Ramona and I never worked out, and that's because she didn't like me. I get it, but you... You actually care about me and... and... I really… I like you a lot and... And... Can you not do that?!"

You stopped writing, looking up at him. You were surprised to see his face was red and that he was sweating slightly.

"Can I not what?"

"You're doing it! The thing! With your eyebrows! It's distracting me!"

"Matthew, calm down." You said, setting down your pencil and standing up. He was about parallel with you, height-wise. Not bad, considering he was a year older.

"No! This is a big deal! This is serious! I want... I want to ask you something."

You looked him in the eyes, confused.

"What is it, Matty?" You asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked away.

"Will you... Go out with me?"

There was a long pause as you processed what had just happened.

"Matthew..." You said, and he visibly cringed.

"I knew it; I knew I was being too forward. I just-"

You cut him off with a hug, burying your face in his chest.

"You're really sweaty; did you know that?" You mumbled, and you felt him laugh. He returned your hug, pulling you in. “And to be honest, you do actually look like a major pirate in this lighting."

"Uh,” His face fell. "Thanks?"

"But, I happen to have a type, you see. Sweaty pirates with magic powers who quote musicals. And I'm pretty sure that describes you perfectly." You said, smiling as you felt his heartbeat pick up. He let out a soft sigh, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"That's... That's a relief."

The two of you stayed there for a moment before he cleared his throat and gently placed a hand on your cheek, making you look at him.

"So, uh, I haven’t done this in a while.”

“You mean since that week in seventh grade with Ramona?” You asked.

His face turned red. “Ramona told you that?! Oh man, did she tell you about Pilgrim, too, or... Okay, we don’t have to talk about this; let's just..."

He leaned down, and you felt his lips press against yours. It was gentle and sweet, and he pulled away, leaving you wanting more.

"You're such a dork, Matty."

"… A good dork, right?"

"Yeah, a good dork." You smiled, kissing his nose. He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again. For not having kissed someone in a long time, he was pretty good.

His hands slid down to rest on your hips, and your arms draped over his shoulders. Your hands tangled in his hair as his tongue gently pressed against your bottom lip, requesting entry.

You opened your mouth, letting him deepen the kiss. You felt your body being pressed against the wall behind you, and you let out a soft gasp. He took this opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, gently rubbing it against yours.

The kiss was messy, tongues and teeth clashing. It wasn’t the most elegant, but it was passionate and full of emotion.

He pulled away, looking down at you. His lips were red and swollen, his hair was messed up, and his face was flushed. You assumed you looked similar.

"… uhm, I think I accidentally set your textbook on fire."

You looked over to where you had been sitting and saw a large pile of ashes where your textbook had been.

"Aw, shit! Matthew, how am I supposed to take finals now?"

"Uhh... I’ll buy you another one. I'm sorry."

You gave him a look, and he looked down in shame. He looked like a sad puppy, and you sighed.

"Don't worry about it. I can just use my computer. And... Well, I wouldn't mind some help studying."

His eyes lit up, and he grinned, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Yeah, I can help. Anything for you, babe."

"Okay, ew, don't call me babe."

"Right, sorry. Honey, Sweetie, Darling, Cutie-"

"Matthew."

"Right. Sorry. Anyway, what was it that you were studying for again?"

You laughed, and the two of you got to work, studying and laughing together. Except, you didn’t study because you were too busy making out. But, that was probably the best studying of all.

The floor became your bed, and it was covered in papers. But you didn’t mind. Because the boy who had previously been known as a nerd with mystic abilities and questionable taste in music was now on top of you, kissing your neck and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Matthew didn’t strike you as the type of guy to take charge. In fact, you would have been surprised if he wasn't a virgin. But as he whispered to you, his hands running along your sides, his lips pressing against yours, his body pressed against yours... You could tell he wanted this just as much as you did.

It didn’t take long before you matched his energy, becoming a sweaty, blushing, panting mess. Your hands were under his shirt, running along his torso. His skin was hot, and you were sure your hands were sweaty. But he didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, he seemed to enjoy it if the groan that came from his mouth when your hand brushed across a particularly sensitive area was anything to go by.

Your name rolled off his tongue, and your heart raced as he whispered into your ear again.

"Do that again, please..."

And who were you to refuse such a polite request?

You sat up, and he adjusted his position so that he was kneeling between your legs, your arms around his neck, and your forehead pressed against his.

His coat was discarded, and the two of you were a blushing mess. His breathing was heavy, and so was yours. Your clothes had become disheveled, and your hair was messy.

But that didn’t matter because the way he was looking at you made you feel more beautiful than you ever had before.

"Y-you're amazing." He muttered, his hand on your hip. "I've liked you for so long. And now, we're here. I never thought I would be this close to you, ever. You're amazing."

You blushed, looking down.

"Matthew, you're embarrassing me."

"Sorry, I just... I need to say it: you're... you're so gorgeous."

You blushed harder, burying your face in his neck and taking a deep breath. He smelled like pine and smoke, and his hair tickled your face.

You felt him chuckle, a deep rumble in his chest. His fingers gently stroked your sides, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He then moved his head so his lips were against your ear.

"You wanna hear a secret?"

"Yes, please."

"My favorite musical is The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Not the Disney movie, but the actual play."

You burst out laughing, looking up at him. He smiled, looking proud of himself.

"Oh, god, Matthew, why?"

"What? I like the songs! I sang it back in high school. Granted, I sang it behind the curtains because I was only picked for the ensemble, but I still like it!"

You couldn’t stop the laughter coming from your mouth, and he began to laugh as well. His laugh was more of confusion than anything else, but it was adorable nonetheless.

"God, you're such a nerd."

"Oh, like you aren't a nerd as well! What was it that you were listening to on your laptop the other day? 'Hamilton' or something?"

"Okay, first of all, Hamilton is amazing, and I will not let anyone, not even you, say otherwise."

"Fair enough. But, can we continue now?"

"I mean, you could just sing a song from the Hunchback of Notre Dame for me."

He laughed, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

"Maybe later." He said, and his lips were back on yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. His hands found their way under your shirt, gently running along your sides. He was gentle and sweet and very eager. His touches were light and loving, and it didn't take long for him to become more confident.

Soon, the kisses became rougher and sloppier, his touches more firm. His hips bucked into yours, and you groaned, breaking the kiss. He grinned, doing it again. You let out a shaky breath, gripping his hair.

"Matty..."

"Yeah?"

"Those demon… girls? , the uh... the ones that follow you around. Can they see us? I really don't want them watching."

His head perks up, watching you.

"Uh, not if I don't want them to. They usually stay in my shadow so they can't see. Besides, I've told them that I'm done with the whole vengeance thing. They're chill."

"Oh, okay.”

He kissed your cheek, and his lips were back on yours in a second, kissing you hungrily. His hands roamed your body, and your hands tangled in his hair, pulling slightly.

Yeah, you didn’t study that night. The excitement was too much. Instead, the two of you stayed in each other’s arms for hours, the smell of burning paper surrounding the room.

Excluding the fact that Matthew had burned your textbook and possibly owed you an entire binder full of notes, you had no complaints.

Matthew Patel might be a nerd, a loser, and a total weirdo to some. But to you, he was the sweetest, most loving, and the most wholesome person you had ever met.

And, as he pressed a kiss to your temple and muttered an "I love you," you couldn't help but smile and think that maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to the "nerds can get chicks" stereotype.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 9 - Date Night

You get some.

On AO3.

It don’t work.

“Yet,” Gale stresses. “Which is the entire point of testing. We’ll try again here in, oh, three days’ time? That’s all part of a research strategy. Documentation.”

Man is such a nerd. It’s adorable. Especially since it seems to be pulling him outta that shitty ass commandment from his bitch-ass goddess to blow himself up.

Gods ain’t fucking shit. Goddamn shocker.

Astarion waits at your tent when you stagger over. You’re only a little bleary-eyed, just enough to soften his features and sharpen your tongue.

“Fuck,” you say.

“Hello to you as well, my sweet,” he says. “I take it that means the wizard is finished with you?”

You reach the tent. He does seem to have cleaned up. His hair is in its usual floof, his camp shirt only slightly musty (not a lot of washing y’all can do between a lava lake and this dump).

You ain’t cleaned shit, and you’re a beat down dog, tonight.

“Well?” Astarion says. Waits while you stand there like a loser.

You know, intellectually, that Gale is right. Standardized testing documents changes in a gradual process. One test, especially the first one, don’t necessarily mean shit. If he’s right about the other thing (your lungs go tight trying to form the word because you fucking failed, goddamn worthless) it’ll take time. Like learning any skill. Like them rich bitches from Texas who pay a hundred grand to get a Sherpa local to haul their ass up Everest. Even they gotta spend time at base camp. Let their body adapt. Can’t double the red blood count overnight, and trying tends to cause swelling in the lungs or brain. And then, like, death.

“Still a dud,” you say and almost bite the inside of your cheek to distract from the way your throat tightens.

“A dud?” He sounds out the word like somebody taking a bite of foreign food. Slow. Careful.

Oh, the limits of dirt potion.

“Means I don’t work,” you say.

He cocks his head to the side. There’s something on his face, around the edges of his eyes…then it’s gone, slipped beneath the surface as his usual smarm ass grin spreads across his lips. “You work for me, darling.”

And you can’t help it. It’s so fucking cheesy. Punctures right through the balloon of self-pity and it bursts out of you in a high snort. “Oh my god, you’re such a dork.”

He don’t even lose his grin. “A what?”

You shake your head. The literal etymology aside, you don’t wanna ruin the mood explaining. Besides, the two of you standing out here all but screaming “hookup” to anybody with a set of eyes…

You lift the tent flap. Duck inside. He follows after you.

“No owlbear this time?” he says.

Just your bedroll and your bag. You ain’t got no fancy rugs or nothing. Even if you had been inclined to start hoarding (and you was), the Underdark took everything. You probably didn’t need half a dozen mismatched forks anyway, right?

“I asked Wyll to take him,” you say.

“Oh~,” Astarion fucking drawls. Gives a shoulder shimmy. “Wanted the two of us alone at last?”

There ain’t no goddamn reason for you to get shy now. You was alone with him for over a week down in them caves. Sleeping in his tent, going full Poo-bear. And yeah, he was blind for that one, but you was wrapped up in only his blanket, cooch out, as he lit a fire in his hand to warm you.

All that before he done stuck his fingers up inside you.

Yet here y’all are. You dropped the fur baby off with a sitter and brought home a man. Elf. Vampire. And it’s taking all you got not to squirm at his proximity.

Especially as he closes the distance between y’all.

“It’s been days since I’ve tasted your lips,” he says. Like a normal person. “It’s all rather distracting. All I can think of, when I ought to be paying attention in battle. Terribly dangerous if I’m lost in remembering the next time we’re attacked.”

Holy god, you wonder when he came up with that one. If he practiced it in his head. How many times he did to make it come out like that. Fucking weirdo. (Yet your insides do a little loop-de-loop anyways.)

He’s so close. Offering you, well, you ain’t quite sure yet. But being close is nice. His touch is nice. And you feel rotten. Tired and sore, and that’s before you get to anything physical. All you want is to lean against him and let everything else disappear for a bit.

“So you’re saying I should kiss you better?” you say.

“I wouldn’t want to presume,” says the man sliding his hands along your hips to draw you closer as goosebumps sweep up your arms and down your thighs.

“I mean.” Your breath ghosts over his lips and you also have to fight the urge to twist away. It seems too…intimate. Almost rude. “It’s to save your life, right?”

“Most certainly.”

He’s so hard to figure out. So many different facets. And some of them is downright nasty. Then he goes and does shit like this, and it tugs at something inside you. A fishhook you went and swallowed, reeling you in by the guts.

“We can’t have that,” you say.

He closes the last, lingering distance.

You kissed him all of what, three times? Does one count each session or each kiss? Cause it turns out they come in groups. All blending together into a moment. Lips gliding. The vibration of his voice as he makes small noises. The mortifying sigh that escapes your nose as you fucking relax into him.

And then his cool fingers circle your wrists (arms hanging at your sides like a dork because you ain’t sure what to do with them) (you are, you just…it’s too forward). Bring them up to place your hands at his neck.

You squeak. Can’t help it. Regress twenty years into a sitcom teenager.

He breaks off. Seems more softly amused than anything, thank fuck. “My sweet little treat. You’re flushed, darling.”

You try (and fail) to regain your breath. Without panting all over him. “That’s supposed to happen.”

“Mmm,” he says. Nuzzles against the side of your face like a man-sized cat. “Only when you’re with a talented lover.”

This one comes out a giggle. A soft huff. When he pulls back again, he’s wearing the softest smile you ever seen.

Then he’s sitting. Tugging you down after him. You straddle his lap and your pulse thunders in your ears. Your stomach does a somersault as his hands circle around to the small of your back and he pulls you close. Spread over his lap again.

He kisses you more. Slips a little tongue, this time. And hey! You still ain’t used to that! Still make weird sounds and then your skin burns as you shudder in his grasp.

His lips move, slide up the side of your face. Up to your ear. “How would you like it this time, lover?”

Holy fucking god.

Nobody. Nobody. Has ever said anything like that to you. Your mouth goes dry as all the moisture in your body seems to slam down between your legs.

Any way you want, you want to say. Barely stop yourself (as the ghosts of shameful past scream in your head).

You search his face. Soft. Smarm. All heavy-lidded. The fingers of his left hand brush softly up and down the back of your neck (should you mimic that).

He’s done this once with you. And he didn’t get anything…reciprocal with it. You ain’t sure it’s okay to ask again. Relationships is about sharing, right? So he should have a turn. Right?

“Do you, uh.” You start strong. Chicken out halfway through. Then force yourself to commit like a grown ass woman straddling a man’s lap. “Do you want a turn?”

Yes. Great. Excellent phrasing there, Ripley. So mature. So self-confident.

He leans away a few inches, you think so he can see your face. Something in his eyes…but then it’s gone. And he’s all liquid lust again.

“But what of you, my sweet?”

Oh jesus. God help you. Fucking talking is hard. This is bullshit.

“I mean. I got to. Y’know. Last time.” It’s not sexy to cringe while straddling a man’s lap. Nobody’s lap, but especially not his when y’all are, well, dating (holy fuck). “And you didn’t. I mean. Unless later you, uh. Which is fine! I’m not. It. It doesn’t bother me or nothing!”

He blinks at you. Doesn’t seem like he’s gonna laugh in your face? Just looks…puzzled. “Are you asking if I’ve touched myself?”

No. Cool. Y’all’re talking about masturbation now. This is fine. Totally okay. You’ll just collect yourself, wish him a good night, and then walk outside to join the legion of shadow puppets.

“You don’t have to answer that,” you say. You’re dodging. Covering. It’s stupid obvious, but you don’t care because you wandered into an area you shouldn’t be in, and you need to get out and get out now. “Sorry. I just thought. Um. If you wanted. Uh.”

But he leans in so close his features go blurry. Might as well’ve slapped a hand over your mouth.

“You want to know?” he says, voice gone silky.

Holy shit.

…has he?

Oh neat, now your own voice done left the chat room. You hope it’s having a nice fucking time hanging out with your missing social awareness, common sense, and thirty-five-years-old fucking sense of maturity.

Then Astarion pecks you on the lips. Pulls you flush against him. “Shall I tell you, darling? How I took myself in hand thinking of you? Imagining you just…”

His hips lift. Yeah, he’s hard. He grinds right up against you and it punches the air clean outta your lungs.

“Like this?”

Grinds again. That is an erection. Rubbing between your legs. Y’all are both fully clothed, but that don’t diminish the knowledge one fucking bit.

He did. Holy fuckballs.

He lowers his head to kiss your neck. The tips of his fangs graze your skin as he suckles. He’s gonna leave another mark. Goddamnit.

“Would you like to know how I pictured you? Taking me so sweetly? Singing so prettily as I filled you?”

You clap a hand over your mouth. Who even talks like this?

“Do you think of me, darling? When you touch yourself? When you retrieve that toy of yours?”

Good god almighty, the man is obsessed with your dildo. But, not in a bad way. You think. You heard of that. It, like, challenges some guys and their sense of masculinity or whatever. But this seems almost…envious?

You think of him sliding down, onto one of his own, mouth falling open and you accidentally grind down hard on him.

So now you have to cover for that. “I. I haven’t. Used that, I mean.”

He still rocks you against him. Jesus lord, y’all are dry humping. This is goddamn dry humping.

“Whyever not?” he says.

“C-can’t just. Drop it into the camp pot, can I? Need to boil that sunuvabitch. So I don’t get Faerun herpes.”

One hand stays on the back of your neck. The other slides down, across your hips. Over your thigh. Traces up to the juncture between your legs. He lifts his head to look at you, a silent question. Asking permission.

But he says it, too. “May I?”

This is crazy. He’s crazy. You’re more crazy. A couple hours from killing a man (thing) and going into shock, and it turns out tomfoolery really does turn the brain to scrambled eggs. Because while part of you know this is a terrible idea and you might be a horrible fucking person. The rest of you? Doesn’t really care right now.

“Yes,” you say.

His hand slips between your legs to stroke the outside of your pants. It ain’t nowhere near like him dipping under that blanket in his tent in the Underdark. But it’s still enough you gasp and arch against him.

His lips find your throat again. His fangs scrape. You shiver against him. Then the hand behind your neck moves. Comes around to the front of your stays. He don’t ask, this time. Don’t even try to get under them; he done went and picked up how you shy from that (though sweet baby jesus, the thought of his mouth on your nipple, teeth nibbling…)

“It sounds like we ought to build our own fire, then,” he says. It takes you a minute to connect conversations. “And I don’t just mean like this.”

His hand disappears before his cool fingers slide over the hem of your pants. Settle on the buttons. You’re already slicker than a shit chute. Can feel it as you move.

“I could help you ready for it, darling,” he says. “Bring you to it, just like this.”

He gets the front open. His fingers move down, over your lower belly.

“I could watch you take it.”

But that. That one’s too far. Eyes on you, the whole congregation witnessing your shame. You can’t stop the flinch.

Astarion pauses. Looks to you, his gaze sharp. He plays airheaded, but you seen him demolish critters and people, and the way he looks at you now is similar. There’s brains behind them eyes.

“No,” he says. “Perhaps not that.”

He releases the front of your stays to guide you down to kiss him all sweet and gentle again. Just as his fingers slip inside your drawers and find your clit.

“Oh,” he hums directly into your mouth. “You certainly liked part of that, though. Is it the thought of using it, perhaps? Shall I hold it for you?”

You make a noise. Too loud, too loud. The others will hear. They know (or suspect, bare minimum) what’s going on in here, but you don’t gotta go hollering about it. Might literally die if anybody says anything tomorrow.

The image though. You only got to use that toy a few times (wasn’t even sure it’d fit, but some prep work and going slow and it was fine; only stung a little at the very first).

His fingertip brushes over your clit again. The contact jolts through you.

“You’re quite riled up,” Astarion says. “We mustn’t wait so long between the next time, hmm? Not when we can have this.”

Man sounds a bit frazzled, the edges of his words fraying. Even as he circles you, fingers slipping through the mess down there. Caressing slow and sure, until you start rocking against him despite yourself. You need more, goddamnit. You done this the one time with him, but your body remembers. It already knows his touch brings pleasure. It leaps at it. You want it. God almighty, you want it.

“Please,” you whisper, cheeks burning. “Astarion…”

“Mmm, yes?” His fangs linger over where he likes to bite you. Fingers trace up your spine as his other hands works inside your pants. It occurs to you that the only one holding you against his touch is you. You are the one putting pressure on his hand. And that sets your body on fire.

His tongue presses against your neck. And the idea just pops in there. All on its own. Too many movies. Too many social media posts. But.

You lift a hand. Press it carefully to the back of his head where his hair is downy soft, beneath the stiffer parts he must pomade up into them swoops. You urge him closer, to bury his face against your neck.

“Please,” you say again. “You can. You can.”

He bites. Hot, sharp pain lances up the side of your neck. You gasp and pull away. But that presses his other hand harder between your legs and it hits. The pleasure. The pain. How he grabs the back of your neck, moaning into you and the way his scent fills your nose and the wet sounds of him touching you and suckling at your neck.

The orgasm rips through you. Sends you bucking against him, trying like hell to stay quiet. Slapping your hand over your mouth even as you cradle his head, pressing him to you. You come right on his hand again, his fangs buried in your neck.

This, you realize, is how you’re going to accidentally train yourself into the most embarrassing Pavlovian response in human history.

[wanderingmind867]

If I made a show or comic about the Nerd Band/Knockoff Dork Squad (Bookworm, Ragdoll and Music Meister), i'd probably have it run for as long as I could ideally make it run. Mostly just so I can have each villain that I like make 15+ appearances. Also, my show would pick up with the pre-crisis dc universe of Earth-One, where Jason Todd is Batman's new Robin. So the batfamily is currently stuck in 1985 1984/1985 when my show begins. But the villains would be eclectically collected from across all the different comics, games, tv shows and movies. Also, this show might lead to a spin-off more directly about Batman and Robin Jason, but I don't know.

In either case, the show would feature pretty much as many villians as I could make the show fit. All the D-listers, at least. This show is about three D-list villians (Bookworm, Ragdoll and Music Meister), so the least we can do is add all the other D-listers in. Penny Plunderer, Kite-Man, Killer Moth, Signalman, Crazy Quilt, The Eraser, The Cavalier, etc. And if the D-list villians are our stars, then we should have a D-list hero as our leading good guy. Someone minor for Bookworm, Ragdoll, Music Meister and these others to match wits with.

So we'd introduce a small town superhero from up in small town Quebec. Moving to Gotham to try and prove themselves as a hero outside of their local community, we meet Fatigué, a french-canadian superhero whose only power is the ability to make people feel exhausted. They can't put them to sleep or anything, they can only fatigue them. The power works better in small towns with lower crime rates. Here in Gotham…not so much.

So we'd have our obscure D-list villians fighting an obscure D-list hero. Batman would be almost completely unaware any of this is happening, since it's only affecting a small chunk of the city in some very minor ways. Also because Fatigué leaves the big city after one season, tired and overwhelmed by the millions of people milling about in Gotham. They'd return to being a small time hero in Quebec, where they'd get a hero's welcome. The moral is that heroes come in all shapes and sizes. Not every hero can be Superman. Sometimes it's better to just have a small town champion.

After Season One, I might consider sending Bookworm, Music Meister and Ragdoll on a big north american roadtrip together, where they do criminal things, fight (and occasionally befriend) minor league superheroes, and even occasionally do a heroic thing too. If this story pays off well, i'd send them back to Gotham with a slightly higher profile, but bring them back down to speed by making them see that a lot of people still don't recognize them. These would be themes the show explores. A lot of DC worldbuilding, mingled with the stories of some of gotham's most d-list crooks.

[teensonskates]

JSRF Headcanon Breakdown

okay I've been sitting on this for a LONG while and I just need a place where I can ramble about my dorks and worldbuilding headcanons so here we fkin go.

please remember, these are MY headcanons and interpretations and they're subject to change. thank you.

height & age chart hc(s):

most of the ages were grabbed from the jsrf wiki. if the character didn't have a specified age, then i'd either find their jsr age and tweaked it up by a year or two, or come up with one myself. highest age i'd consider is 26 or 27 because the GG cast is full of teens and YOUNG adults.

the reason Yoyo is short compared to all the other males is due to malnutrition during his important developmental years. I think he's a child of neglect, like, "mommy had to spend 23/6 working to pay off daddy's debts" type neglect, and Yoyo had to raise himself, which means he grew up mostly eating ramen and other cheap foods because trying to cook and accidently burning down their crummy house was a genuine fear of his.

general hc(s):

corn - pretty quiet but hella observant. not afraid to voice his grievances tho. certified fact checker

gum - group's older sister. corn's right hand women and voice of the operation. whips people into shape real quick

yoyo - local dumbass and gremlin. prank master. cares little for his own safety. the average "i hide my depression behind humor" type. why talk about my problems when I can talk about my new shiny Pikachu? lied about his day/achievements to make his mom happy. adhd incarnate

beat - tries not to care but ends up caring way too fucking much. the one that bails people out of jail and hands them over to gum to get their ass whooped. peak example of repressed homosexuality. secondary fact checker

combo - gentle giant group dad. live and let live, unless youre a cop, then get f*cked. he's seen some shit. don't mess with his children homies, but all around chill dude. probably carrying an unregistered blicky tho (never got caught lacking again). bro is an absolute demon at uno.

rhyth/mew - skimpy but not slutty. pastel colours. glitters and unicorns and all that shit. but she will snatch your ankles and your wallet without you noticing. second in command of yoyo's prank group. edible maker, shares weed stash with clutch sometimes.

boogie - southern sweetheart. calls everyone sugar or hun. pretty laid back. 90's disco/diner era aesthetic. one the two in the group that actually knows how to cook more than grilled cheese and ramen.

garam - chaos incarnate, 3rd member of yoyo's prank team. day one homie for life.

jazz - the mom friend. blesses these dumbasses with wisdom and life advice (this includes relationship advice). loves reading like the absolute book nerd she is. secondary cook.

cube - my chemical romance listener. slow to trust but loyal to a fault. will murder your enemies for you. says shit how it is. honourary 4th member of yoyo's prank squad.

soda - maladaptive daydreamer, possibly "suffering" from autism (he's like me fr). this is the mf that sends random questions, memes, and bug facts in the gc at 3am.

clutch - THE pothead. this guy is buzzed out the wazoo 25/8. kind of has that asshole older brother energy. bullies you but only HE can bully you. everyone else will get their shit rocked. basically makes fun of whatever problem you're going thru but helps you with it anyways.

the radio watches (might come up with a better name later lol) are how they broadcast when a race is talking place, which is how DJ PK is always narrating races.

world-building hc(s):

jsrf may be a re-imagining of jsr, but I like to use jsr as a loose basis for the lore behind jsrf. for example, Beat is the leader of the GGs is jsr but not jsrf. instead of ignoring one over the other, I merge them by imagining that Beat was the leader, but handed over leadership to Corn to handle personal matters. then when he rejoins, preferred not to take it back despite making jokes about doing so.

these broadcasts are hosted on a rudie only server, which means you need credentials, and you can only get credentials via a reference from an existing account holder (aka another gang member or the gang leader). solo rudie's are pretty much cooked unless they have connections.

the only reason the rokkaku police always showing up is because they either get tipped off by civilians or by other gangs who'll sometimes give anonymous tips for something in return.

the watch can also be used as a walkie talkie and has optional location sharing for gang members.

[mslovingghost]

Sweet Forest

Bakugou is a botanist who is researching an enchanted forest and encounters a being who claims to be the spirit of the woods.

The old enchanted forest had been a place of mystery for a long time. Most people never stepped foot onto its sacred grounds purely from the rumors circulating about it. A place where mist covered the local fauna, shrouding it in mystery and perfect for warding away anyone looking to find what’s inside. That is, until Bakugou, a renowned botanist, decided he would be the first to not get scared away by measly rumors his ol’ hag would tell him to behave. 

He found himself just outside the boundary of the forest. There was an obvious line between enchanted and not which made Bakugou’s brain whirl with ideas as he crossed it for the first time. 

Nothing Happened. 

He was almost disappointed at a lack of ‘magic’ to prevent his entry. All those stories from his childhood were for naught as he easily trudged through the muddy grounds with fog pooling at his feet. While he walked he made notes of the different fauna to study, taking samples when he felt it was safe, but otherwise drew a picture to identify it later. His study so far was going well. 

“This is not a forest for studying. It’s alive, and it does not welcome intruders.” Bakugou lifted his eyes to be met with angry, emerald ones. With a sneer, he responded, “Who the hell are you?” The green-haired stranger met his sneer with one of his own. Who was he to give Bakugou a look like that when he was the one interrupting? Without missing a beat, “I’m the spirit protecting these woods.” The stranger immediately started stepping closer in anger, pointing his finger angrily at Bakugou. “And you are not welcome. Leave,” he snarled. 

No one would believe that this small dork would be the spirit supposedly protecting the enchanted forest. He looked a little scrawny to be doing the work. Bakugou made a quiet ‘tch’ before closing up his notebook. He huffed, “No way. You’re a bit…small?” The poor guy looked like he could barely lift a leaf without some kind of assistance. That was until Bakugou suddenly found himself getting dragged by the glowing roots of a tree nearby. The stranger just smiled as he waved, hand covered in a soft glow similar to the one surrounding the roots. With a soft thunk, the roots lifted him and threw him out over the boundary. 

Bakugou huffed in frustration as the spirit of the woods tossed him out, his ego stinging from the unexpected rejection. “What gives? What a deku…” he mutters, half-exasperated, half-amused. Yet, as he brushed off the leaves and looked back into the enchanting forest, a reluctant smile crept onto his face. Maybe he’d come back later to meet the nerd again.

Lowkey forgot to edit this-

[insomniac4000]

“cute glasses dork” or “take my bed” arthurtv plsssss thank u omg

Arthur had noticed her before. The girl who moved in next door, always carrying boxes or rushing about. They’d exchanged a few friendly waves and brief nods, but that was the extent of their interactions. Still, she was hard to miss; there was an energy about her, something bright and a little chaotic, that Arthur found intriguing.

One Saturday afternoon, he was pacing around his kitchen, half-listening to a podcast and half-wondering if it was too early to order dinner when he heard the distinct sound of a laugh from outside. He peered out the window and saw her, talking and waving to the concierge of the building who was finishing his shift, Arthur couldn't help but notice the book in her hand. The sight stirred something in him. He figured he might as well go out and say hi, on his way to go and dinner of course.

As he walked out, he locked his flat slowly and sure enough by the time he was done the lift pinged and out she walked, she saw him, giving him a friendly smile. But something was different. She was wearing glasses—thin, silver-rimmed, slightly oversized, and a little smudged from being handled so much. The sight caught him off guard. He had never seen her in glasses before, were they new? Somehow, they added a new dimension to her that was both cute and endearing. But Arthur, of course, had to play it cool.

“Nice glasses, dork,” he said with a smirk.

She arched an eyebrow and gave him an amused look. “Wow, a greeting and an insult all in one go. I’m impressed.”

“Oh, it’s a special skill,” he replied, grinning. “But seriously, they suit you.”

“Thanks,” she said, adjusting them. “My contacts were bugging me, so I had to go old-school today.”

“Old-school?” Arthur chuckled, “Do glasses really qualify as ‘old-school’ these days?”

“Depends who you ask, but yes, absolutely,” she said with a laugh. “I feel like such a nerd wearing them out here, though.”

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the soft smile that followed. “Trust me, you’re a long way from ‘nerd.’ I think you’re just making it work,” he said, noticing her cheeks flush slightly.

“So… Arthur, right?” she asked, finally closing her book and setting it down.

“You remembered.” He nodded, a bit flattered. “And you’re…?” Arthur asked like he hadn't studies her full name on her post or overheard her phone conversations through the wall.

“Lily,” she replied, sticking out her hand. He shook it, holding her gaze a moment longer than he intended.

“So, Lily,” he began, trying to keep things casual, “you new around here? I don’t remember seeing you until recently.”

“Yeah, just moved in a few weeks ago. Starting a new job nearby, so it made sense.” She tilted her head, glancing at him thoughtfully. “And you? How long have you been in this place?”

“Oh, I’m practically a local legend at this point,” Arthur said, feigning importance. “Been here for… two years now.”

She laughed. “A legend, huh? Should I start seeing plaques around the neighbourhood in your honour?”

“Oh, they’re coming. Plaques, statues, maybe even a mural,” he joked, pleased to hear her laugh again.

The two of them continued chatting, swapping stories about the area, laughing about the eccentric older couple who fed the stray cats every morning, and exchanging favourite coffee spots. She was witty, quick on her feet, and unafraid to challenge him in their banter, which he found both refreshing and strangely thrilling.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow on the street, Arthur realized he’d been talking to her for over an hour. The conversation felt effortless, and he didn’t want it to end.

"I was actually on the way out to get some food, have you eaten?" Arthur asked, he could feel his heart beating out of his chest as he was plucking up the courage to ask her something.

"Not since this morning, I could eat. It’s a date, then. Just… be nice to the glasses, okay?”

“Only if you promise not to take them off,” he replied with a wink, noticing her blush once again before she turned to go back to the lift.

As she closed the door, Arthur found himself grinning like an idiot. Maybe having a cute neighbour wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[cobra-creampuff]

Hi Jack! Some totally random questions to take your mind off things -

1. Ian and Mickey have saved up enough to take a short vacation. Where are they going?

2. What weird/fun/silly ways do they decorate their West Side apartment?

3. Who controls the radio when they drive around for work?

4. What kind of takeout do they get so regularly that the restaurant knows them by name?

5. Are they still wearing the camo outfits for work? And how many times has Ian gotten distracted by Mickey wearing camo?

1. They bicker about going to various tourist spots around the country for weeks, interspersed with both of them at some point doing the pengu pout and saying Well Now I Just Want A Staycation - until finally Ian asks Mickey to take him to Mexico and show him around. Mickey reminds him he wasn't exactly having a fucking gap year abroad or some shit, and that if Mickey really does "show him around" where Mickey went a lot of those places are going to be dangerous and not strictly legal, and Ian says something unbearably sappy about how that makes it Perfect For Them, so much more than any Normal vacation.

2. I don't know basically anything about the west side place, and I really haven't decided what kind of living situation they end up in as Grown Up grown ups in the secret version with nothing I don't like in it that exists in my head yet. However, I think Mickey is a closet dork, and once he can afford it - both fiscally and emotionally - he starts collecting and displaying nerd shit. Specifically I'm thinking he's into X-Men and also pro wrestling, the latter of which is not exactly dorky in the same way BUT we're counting it here because he observes his affinity for it with the same type of nerd shit. He's got mini-figures (NOT lego, I'm talking like D&D model style minifigs) - wait hold up I was looking at the WWE site for ideas on what Mickey would have and discovered the action figures are Mattel branded. So yeah uh. Mickey gets X-Men and WWE Mattel branded action figures, and then gets force-Barbiepilled by The Algorithm qohugakaogks. ANYWAY. Re: decor, there are LED-lit glass shelves in the living spaces with Mickey's action figures on. Ian got him a "matching" set of Van Damme and Seagal for an anniversary, and they have a place of honor above the TV. Every now and then they will ~mysteriously~ end up posed as if they are fucking; both Ian and Mickey always blame this on the other.

ETA: At some point they're looking after one/some of the various children, and the action figures and Barbies get played with (while Mickey pretends very, very badly to be okay with it until he sends himself out of the room so he doesn't yell). Ian is also not paying attention; kid is being quiet but not too quiet, that's all he cares about. Then, after the kid is gone and things are picked up, they realize the Seagal action figure has been put into a Barbie wedding dress (dON'T ask Mickey why he has that!!). Mickey is quite disgruntled by this, and Ian laughs so hard - at the combo of the actual doll situation and the look on Mickey's face about it - that he almost makes himself sick.

3. I REALLY know nothing about their work, but uhhhh. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his pie hole.

4. There's this south side taqueria, maybe a hole in the wall or maybe a food truck. Even if/when they do move away to a better area, nothing beats it. Hell, even if they moved out of town entirely, they'd travel for it. I think I want there to be some kind of loyalty there that isn't just for the quality of the food (which is impeccable regardless). Maybe the owner would give one or both of them free food back in the day, or maybe had an opportunity to snitch on them but didn't, or idk their wedding is completely different To Me but there could still be some mishaps and such so maybe this place was the only one that agreed to cater day-of, or Terry like "blacklisted" Mickey from a bunch of locally owned places under Threat Of Terry and this place was one of few that would still serve him, or whatever. Like, the food itself is phenomenal and they'd have already been eating there previous, but then there was some personal element too that made it Their taqueria. They know everyone there by name too.

5. Mickey has never worn a single stitch of camo ever in his life :)

[joesjunkyard]

If you have a local library you should get a library card!! Not only is it so cool and hip to support local libraries but you can get access to cool things like Hoopla. Gotta love an app amiright?

Hoopla is a digital library and if been using it to read the Rick and Morty comics. Idk if they have all comics but I'm going to read what they have cuz I'm a lil content goblin yum yum.

Look at this lil nerd

🫵 DORK

Sometimes they draw him with collar bones and I don't go feral

Also? Rick would have an old man beer gut and the comics do it well and repeatedly

[hetaologist]

APH America "Ethnography" and Headcanons (SFW)

The United States of America, Alfred F. Jones, Mr. Stars and Stripes, 'Merica, Pretty Boy, um... or just simply America.

Here is a list of data I have gathered from this country and oh boy, what an interesting specimen we have here....

Ethnography

You will find this find this mythological creature at your local Walmart superstore during the evening hours on a weekday, sporting flannel loungewear pants (The plaid kind), a cotton t-shirt that definitely has been worn no less than two (2) times, Old Navy $1 flip flops, and a gray jacket.

When asked about his late night runs to the popular supermarket chain, his answer is just simply:

"There's nothing else to do and no where to go."

America's Cart Inventory for March 22nd:

One (1) package of "Mega Stuf Chocolate Oreos" for $5.97, One (1) 6-Pack of "Starbucks Frappuccino Chilled Coffee Drinks" in Caramel Flavor for $7.98, One (1) Family Sized Bag of "Flaming Hot Cheetos" for $5.94, One (1) "Furby Interactive Toy" for $39.19, and One (1) Stick of " Axe Apollo Men's Deodorant Stick" for $4.97. Total of purchase was $64.05 before tax.

When questioned about the "Furby Interactive Toy", he replies:

"Yeah dude, there's this thing I wanna make that's called a "Long Furby". Wanna come by my place and check it out?"

I agreed to the invination as it would give me a better look into his living space and lifestyle. He's very friendly person.

Living Space (Home):

Oh dear god, why did I agree to come here?

House is a what you would expect from a typical American college student such as:

"Saturdays Are For The Boys" banner flag, Marvel and DC posters, a very unsettling looking blue leather couch that looks like it has been through hell and back, random dumbbells and untouched exercise equipment, every game console from the 1972 "The Magnavox Odyssey" to the PS5, action figures from various popular TV shows and comics, an old KFC bucket with half eaten chicken on the coffee table and a shelf with a huge vinyl record and CD collection.

Conclusion: What a fucking gross nerd.

America offers a cold can of Coca-Cola, I accept it.

He shows me a very long light blue "Long Furby" from his collection, further proving how much of a dork he was.

When asked what kind of music he liked (in regards to his music collection), he replies:

"That's hard to answer, it changes every week. Because of my diverse music, I pretty much like everything. One week I could be listening to 1980's classic rock, 2000's techno-pop, Bluegrass Country, 1990's Hip Hop or anything. But, if I had to give you this week's favorite artist, it would have to be Taylor Swift and Doja Cat."

"Interesting..." I replied.

I have recorded enough data for today (the smell was bothering me) and left his home to do further extensive research.

Headcanons:

America has a deep love for cars and trucks, he can be seen working on his vintage 1968 Dodge Charger R/T called 'Thunderbird' (an absolute speed demon that can reach at top speeds of muthafuckin' 156 mph), and his enormous 2019 Ford F-150 'Big John' that he loves to drive to world meetings because he is a total stud muffin showoff.

Oh yeah, he defiantly modded 'Big John' horns with airblasters. So when he parks his car and he sees other nations come out of their vehicles, he pounds on that horn and scares the living shit out of them.

He totally does 2 am donuts in the Thunderbird the front of Walmart parking lots with his brother Canada to freak him out.

Other than seeing him work on his cars while listening to "Waking Up in Vegas by Katy Perry" on the radio, he's in his room sorting out his action figure and comic book collection.

Damn, what what a geek.

He has an eBay account where he buys, trades and auctions his collection as his interests constantly change.

If you think him being a geek, dork and a nerd is gonna save him from getting a basic ass Stanley cup, you're wrong.

He has a navy blue one that he takes to meetings and he would get dirty looks from the other nations.

"Goddamn it America, you do not need that much coffee."

"Fuck you, you scone sucking twink. It's not coffee, it's the Panera Super Charged Lemonade mixed with Redbull."

"I beg your fucking pardon..."

He gave Canada a red one for his birthday that he also takes with him to meetings.

"Canada, mon ami~. That better not be that merde American drinks that makes your heart explode."

"No, it's Tim Hortons iced coffee."

"Well.. that's better than what America drinks..."

[anglsenthvnsent]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 JOBS THAT WOULD FIT STRAY KIDS MEMBERS

these are all specific stores!!! most of these are american stores (i think?) so sorry if they are unfamiliar!! i may or may not have worked at these places before…

BATH AND BODY WORKS

-LEE KNOW!

-chan

-felix

-changbin

what do u mean when u tell me lee know has never stepped foot inside a bath and body works before?? HE IS MADE FOR IT OMG. the apron tied around his waist, his pretty visuals literally drawing customers in. people would actually take the scent testers from him. imagine asking for recommendations and him leading u around the store, calling out scents by name and their “floral, dark, clean” notes. his favorite scent is definitely a spring scent like book loft or a classic like crisp morning air. ALSO imagine his shy, working voice when asking people for their rewards number and then going to the back, rolling his eyes and immediately complaining. made for the job. he’s perfect.

chan and felix are also great fits! they would definitely be a lil too knowledgeable (thanks to sisters and genuine interest). imagine asking for recommendations for scents and felix whips out gingham gorgeous (aka one of the strongest, clean scent with floral). my wonderful body care men :’]

let’s be honest. changbin in an apron. that’s it.

BARNES & NOBLE

-hyunjin

-seungmin

u mean to tell me these nerds wouldn’t apply for barnes & noble at least four times? (honestly, it seems like they’re always hiring then never hire lmao)

hyunjin definitely likes the “quiet” vibe of the workplace. it’s definitely not always quiet, but being surrounded by books and drawing when he has no customers at the help desk is nice. he likes roaming around and looking at new journals, stationary, popular authors, etc. he doesn’t always read, but if the book seems popular enough he will get it to try it out! also, hyunjin dressed as a nerd with his eyebrow piercing and dyed hair. sHEEESSHH that’s the death of me.

ur probably wondering why seungmin isn’t the first name. he is literally the member that ppl said his room was “boring” bc of all the books and that he probably studies for fun. BUT, i don’t think he would necessarily like it as a job? he likes to keep his interests and hobbies to himself, so constantly recommending books or seeing others buy an author he absolutely hated might not be his favorite. although, some days he walks in and is GRATEFUL that he chose this over any other mall job. some days it’s his escape. bookworm 4L.

TARGET

-han

-jeongin

-changbin

han as a target worker is literally canon at this point. lets be honest, he would be a perfect fit. he would wear the same red zip up jacket ever shift, no matter is he’s doing shipment orders or register. mans just wants to be comfy and make money. but in all seriousness!! he likes the people he works with and enjoys how organized everything is. less to get confused and overwhelmed by.

u could find jeongin either at target or ur local grocery store. he just fits the grocery store worker vibe so well. don’t know how to explain.

changbin in a target is something i never thought about but it would work so well? imagine him at the customer service desk asking for ur card information for a refund. like how does it seem so normal???

BEST BUY

-CHANGBIN!!

-felix

first person i thought of for best buy. changbin. he just seems like such a lil dork when thinking about it?? ur telling me he wouldn’t giggle and act flustered when u thought the iphone 15 and 15 max were the same thing? he would. u know he would.

felix just works and we all know it. his mom definitely made him apply bc of his love for PCs and he kinda just got the job. loves doing tech things!! (but hates how rude some of the customers are :[)

TILLY’S

-chan

-jeongin

-han

for those who don’t know, tilly’s is kinda like an alternative skater/surfer clothing store! like beach clothes for skaters… if that makes sense…

from past experience of working here, chan just fits the manager role so well. diligent when working and so nice?? customers never feel overlooked when talking to him, all workers respect and like him, and he does amazing at his job! another thing that fits him so well is how tired he is :(( tillys puts their managers to workkk i am telling u.

jeongin would feel a lil outcasted when working here, cuz he never expected to work at a mall store??, but he likes it pretty much. he likes being on fitting room duty the most bc he could be on his phone most of the time. but he would DREAD if he was called to be on register bc he always forgets to take the security tags off.

han would fit right in. a lil… too good. he’s there for that employee discount and the limited nike clothes that get put out. would always want to be on register so time goes by faster. once again, he’s there for that check.

[mlarayoukai]

I'M NOT GATEKEEPING but people are like hehe I like cute nerds too :3 Those are great but I want dorks. Geeks. Guy who still carries his 3ds in 2024 in his cargo shorts. Guy who leaves his house once a month to play card games at the local game store. Guy who can barely make direct eye contact. Guy who unironically goes "um actually". Definitely out of shape and low vitamin d. Horrible fashion sense, owns 10 graph tees with Nintendo licenses. And by God. His ass has Astigmatism. I could and can go on

[lillyhasaspoon]

♥ June 15- Westminster Abbey & Parliament; The King’s Birthday!

Happy Birthday King Charles III! 🎉 What a more perfect way to celebrate than visiting the famous Westminster Abbey and Parliament.

After a quick breakfast, we made our way to Westminster for a walking tour of the area. We walked our way through the Westminster Abbey High School. I was surprised to see students in uniforms on a Saturday, especially when the area was so busy with tourists. Our tour guide was an older gentlemen and he led us through the school and past brick homes until we stood in front of Westminster Abbey, the church of the royals.

We actually walked in on a wedding, funny enough. The place was teeming with tourists but there was a giant family celebrating a wedding, which I learned are most likely MP’s or lords (or their family.) Thought that was so neat.The entire area surrounding the church, aside from the bits under construction, was made up of these beautifully designed “neo-gothic” buildings with statues and flags everywhere. The inside was even more breathtaking. The area was full of memorial sites lined with dark velvets and gold, and lit by the various stained glass windows. I was enamored by those stained glass windows, the intricacy of their designs genuinely mind-blowing. It was a church, a gravesite, and a memoriam in one.

After exploring the church, we had lunch. The little group I was with ate at a cafe that serves panini’s and soups, it was delicious.

Then was Parliament. One thing I enjoy about the architecture of the area was the storytelling of the statues littered around. There is a lot of attention to detail put into their poses, where they are, and even who they face. For example the statue of Charles I (who was the first and only monarch to be executed. Or beheaded, rather.) faced by Oliver Cromwell, who was heavily against him and ultimately killed him. The two enemies were forced to face each other for eternity, Cromwell posed with a sword and a bible, and Charles as nothing but a head.

Inside parliament we were given audio guides to carry with us as we explored the lobby area, House of Commons, and the House of Lords. In the lobby area, there was this incredible mosaic that expanded from roses and golden patterns to figures like Saint George. That tour was self-guided, but the audio commentary painted a wonderful story of the history of Parliament and its use.

After parliament, my little “Nerds and Dorks gone pro” group went and explored the surrounding area. We went to St. James Park, enjoying the garden and chatting with the local wildlife (squirrels and swans). We stopped at a local cafe and shared a lemon raspberry cake and a salmon sandwich among us all before heading back to the hotel.

The rest of the day went: Hotel, lay on bed, hear about our comrades ailments and aid to them (feeling sick so we were sent on a saltines and ginger-ale retrieval mission), and then dinner in the hotel cafe with N.A.D.G.P (coffee and pizza. Yup.).

All and all, a super productive and educational day!

@danielcronrath @grcetylr @ivory000 @livingingloworld @comafloods

[montparnasse]

i finally finished this old wip for @stonathanweek (and coincidentally also @stoncyweek2023!)

prompts: canon-verse (day 5), long distance relationship (day 7) summary: Steve comes up with an awesome plan to make Nancy jealous. It backfires in the best way. rating: explicit ships: stonathan, stoncy, established jonathan/nancy, past steve/nancy (and future? 😳) steve and robin being best bros word count: 5660 content info: drinking, phone sex, miscommunication, smut & feelings, pre-polyamory, set before season 4

Also on AO3!

The front door of Family Video slams shut on yet another failed attempt at flirting, and Steve’s head falls into his hands yet a-fuckin-gain. “This is it, Robin,” he declares, elbows digging into the cheap melamine counter and fingertips digging into his temples just above his furrowed brows. “This is it. We’ve got no prospects.”

“That isn’t true,” Robin, the light of his life, tells him, soft and kind-hearted as ever. She pats his shoulder and goes on to correct him, “You’ve got no prospects. I’m just in the wrong city for love; you’re on the wrong planet.”

“The wrong p— you’re a real asshole, you know that?” Steve glances up from between his fingers just to check that she knows that. Robin’s sweet smile doesn’t falter for a moment, confirming her own theory. He’s sure that if they did live in another place, or perhaps another time, Robin could have a girlfriend in no time at all. Steve, however, is doomed. “What am I supposed to do with that, huh? I can’t exactly set off to Mars.”

“You could try changing it up,” Robin suggests. It’s the third time this week she’s suggested that he change. He’s starting to feel like she might mean it. “Instead of ‘ahoy, ladies’…”

She scrunches up her nose, thinking. Steve rests his chin on his knuckles and watches her. “Ahoy… fellas?”

“Ha-ha.” Robin pushes his shoulder again, this time not to comfort but to chastise. “I meant maybe coming up with a different approach.”

“I don’t do the Scoops routine anymore.”

“Right, you’ve switched to local video store geek recommending all your favorite flicks.”

“Geek! I’m not a geek! What about this,” Steve gestures up and down his body with broad, sweeping motions that draw out a flurry of giggles from Robin, “says geek?!”

“Like, all of it,” she laughs. “Every part of it. The hair? Dork. The smile? Total nerd smile— see, look, you’re offended but you’re smiling!”

Through his not-smile, Steve hisses, “What am I supposed to do about my smile? I’m freaking screwed!”

“Calm down, you’ll be fine!” It’s hard to take Robin’s consolation seriously as she struggles not to laugh. Some consternation must show on his face as she finally relents, wiping an eye dry before leaning away, and repeating, “You’ll be fine. You’ve got plenty of time to work out the new Harrington act anyway, and in the meantime, you’ve got good friends who look out for you.”

“I thought you said Dustin and the gang were annoying little kids.”

“God, I meant me, you dick!” This time he’s ready for the blow to his shoulder and he dodges it effortlessly, ducking under the slap and then swatting it away. It’s a good thing Keith left right away after his morning shift, as he hates when they squabble like this in the front end of the store. Not that there are any customers. Steve has apparently frightened them all away with his utter and total lack of charisma. Fantastic.

After he loses— quite badly, really, Robin, where was this killer physique and athleticism when they were being held hostage by enemies of the state— and they resume their work, Steve doesn’t put up much of a pretense of actually working, far too distracted by his foreboding future. The loneliness gnaws at him deeply, scraping down to his marrow until he starts fidgeting, uncomfortable with his own turbulent emotion.

Robin hadn’t meant it, and god knows she’s got it worse than he does, but… it does suck, not having someone and not seeming able to find anyone. Even when things were bad with Nancy there had still been things. And before her, when Tommy and Carol had dragged him to each and every party like a prized stud ready for the auction, he had felt wanted. He can’t remember when he last felt wanted.

Before he can voice this pathetic thought to Robin, she sighs, taking obvious pity on him. “You have any plans tonight?”

“Take a wild guess,” Steve grumbles.

Unaffected, she continues, “Sooo… my parents went to this big Christmas party last weekend, and they brought home these two huge gift baskets they apparently won in some raffle. And one of the baskets had some bourbon, and, um, I don’t really know anything about drinking, so, I… uh, I brought it, and I thought maybe it’d be fun if we. Drank it.”

Steve twists to stare at her incredulously. No part of the story makes even a lick of sense— what kind of parents let their eighteen-year-old daughter drink liquor freely? What kind of parents bring gifts home without occasion or cause? Who throws a Christmas party in January? Baffled, he echoes, “You brought it?”

“I brought it,” Robin confirms.

“In… what, in your backpack?”

“Yeah, in my backpack.” Both of them glance at the staff area, and she says, “What, you don’t want to? If you don’t want to, it’s—”

“Hold on, they just let you have it?”

“They don’t drink.”

“Well… what kind of bourbon is it?”

“I have no clue, doofus. I don’t drink.”

“Never?”

“I’ve never had anyone to drink with.” This confession lingers in the air for a heavy moment— not necessarily a bad one, but it weighs them both down, together. Then Robin coughs, and changes tack, “What types of bourbon are there?”

Steve doesn’t actually know. He’s not sure that he’s actually ever tried bourbon. It sounds both quaintly Southern and exorbitant, but the likely high price tag only adds to the allure. “Alright, we’ll just have to make sure we don’t leave anything for Keith to catch onto us. Guy would flip his freaking lid. But… we could try a glass, or two.”

“Neat,” Robin grins, eyes practically sparkling. “Yeah, I probably won’t have more than a sip.”

--

Steve sits— well, crashes— down onto the counter beside Robin. His legs dangle over the edge, while she keeps hers crossed. “I think I lost my voice,” he tells her, and in response she passes— well, slams— the bottle into his hand. “No, Robin, I’m serious, I think I sang too hard.”

“They’re making another one of these.” She points, and Steve follows her gaze to the TV set up in the corner over Comedies and International, which is currently playing The Evil Dead, but set to the soundtrack of the album Steve has been blasting over the Family Video intercom. “With the same director and everything. I bet it’ll be terrible; sequels always are.”

“Not true,” croaks Steve. He drinks the bourbon. It tastes a little better with every sip, although it still mostly tastes like he’s hiding in a cleaning closet and drinking heavy acid instead of hanging out with his friend and drinking actual good liquor. If this is good liquor, he thinks he’ll stick to cheap beer. “Dawn of the Dead.”

“Remake, not a sequel.”

“No way, it’s a sequel.” Steve passes the bottle back, massaging his throat. “Zombies and shit.” AC/DC comes to the end of howling ‘Back in Black’, thank God, no more falsetto— and the tape switches to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’. He starts tapping his heels against the counter to the rhythm. 

On screen, Ash’s buddy Scotty shoves one of the zombified girls away with an ax. Robin watches. Steve grimaces. Scotty swears his head off on mute. Brian Johnson wails, “She was the best damn woman that I ever seen!”

“I love women,” Robin sighs, deep and emotional.

“Me too,” agrees Steve fervently.

“And I don’t hate bourbon.”

“Me either.” He reaches for the bottle and she takes a sip before sharing; it burns when it hits his already scratchy throat. Scotty locks the zombie in the basement. Robin reaches back for the bottle. The confession squeezes out before Steve can think any better of it: “I miss Nancy.”

“Oh my god.”

“I mean it—”

“I know you do—”

“I love her, Robin.”

“Oh My God.”

“Listen,” Steve says, hopping off the counter with grace and precision. He completely misjudges the distance between them and the floor, and ends up crash-landing hard; but at least he doesn’t fall over. Robin laughs harder than she needs to as he steadies himself. “Listen. She was my best damn… the best girlfriend that I’ve ever had. And I was so stupid to her. And she left me.”

“I thought she left because she didn’t have feelings for you anymore.”

“Could you just—” Steve flails for a moment, trying not to throttle his best friend and also trying to sort through his drunk thoughts to find the words he needs. “Yes. Okay. That may be true. But feelings come and go!”

“Fine,” says Robin reluctantly. “But, and I hate to put a damper on your drunken dreams of winning her back, but! In this case, Nancy has already moved on to someone else… right?”

Steve snaps his fingers. Jonathan— of course! That’s why that stupid horror movie seemed so familiar; he remembers seeing the freaky poster hung up in Jonathan’s room from when he and Nancy and Jonathan had fought off the Demogorgon the first time around. Steve hasn’t thought about Jonathan in a while, which seems odd given that he used to waste so much time thinking about the guy. Even before their team-up— actually, especially before they had teamed up, he had a penchant for watching the weird Byers kid. “Right,” he exclaims. “Yeah, yes! She’s moved on!”

“So,” says Robin, with the patience of a schoolteacher. “Don’t you think it’s time that you move on too?”

“Totally,” he agrees, catching her off-guard. “Yes. I’m gonna make her so jealous.”

When he looks over, Robin is fully chugging the bourbon. Steve snatches the bottle away, laughing somewhat maniacally— except not at all, this is awesome, he has a totally awesome plan.

Step one is get on the work computer and misuse his employee privilege as a Family Video store clerk. When he fails to type in his password correctly a third time, Robin sighs, finally hopping down from the counter. “I want it on record that this is a bad idea,” she declares, typing in her password anyway before heading to the back room. Steve takes advantage of her absence to quickly scan through their alphabetized account list. Thankfully Byers, J. is close to the top. 

He scrawls the phone number down on the back of an empty receipt as Robin closes down the store— beginning with the music, then the lights. They are left alone with only the computer, which Steve quickly shuts off, and the television, which Robin misplaced the remote for. Neither of them can find it in the dark and so they leave Ash and friends to face their inevitable demise at the hands of the zombie demons. It won’t be the worst close they’ve ever done, and Steve refuses to believe that Keith’s opinion of him could sink any lower.

Robin grabs the nearly empty bottle, shoving it into her backpack. Steve grabs his jacket, pulling it on with a wince as they step out of the store into the January night air. “It’s too cold to drive, and I’m too drunk to walk,” says Robin, arms already tightly folded over her chest but teeth not quite chattering yet. “I mean… no, wait, maybe that is what I mean.”

“I got this,” Steve assures her. It’s then that Robin notices the receipt, and lunges for it. Maybe if Steve had full control of his faculties he would be able to hold it out of her reach. She snatches the paper and Steve moans, “Aw, c’mon, give it back! You’re messing up my whole plan!”

“Your plan to get back with your ex by making her jealous? Oh my god, you’re serious.” Robin laughs, shoving the receipt back at him. Her grin is too wide and goofy to cause any real hurt, especially when her eyes crinkle up in the corners and she teases, “Look at that, Harrington! You finally got a girl’s number.”

Steve, smiling back, doesn’t correct her.

--

The only cab in Hawkins surely isn’t the only cab in Hawkins, but it feels that way as they drive down the otherwise dormant city streets. Most people, Steve reckons, don’t stay up late drinking with their coworkers on a cold weeknight in January. Or if they do, they probably go to a bar close to their office downtown, or even a nightclub.

In the backseat of the only cab in Hawkins, Steve and Robin lean against each other like siblings on a road trip, slouched together thanks to the late hour and all the drinking. He’s sure they smell like shit but they feel amazing, smacking each other’s arms to point out passing landmarks or giggling about the music on the radio. The driver hasn’t commented, leaving them to their own devices as they joke about how they feel like New Yorkers, or like superstars. 

The taxi drops Robin off outside her home first, and she leans over to give Steve a bourbon-soaked hug. He relishes in it, trying to remember the last time he got a hug from anyone. Hell, it was probably Robin, and before that, he has no clue. Dustin has been busy with his new Dungeons and Dragons group, and Lucas and Mike were never big on hugs anyway. So he hugs back, still laughing at Robin’s terrible Bronx accent, and as he does she whispers, “You got this, dingus.”

“Thanks,” Steve whispers back, feeling tipsy and joyful and supported— until he realizes that she meant he’s the one on the hook for paying the taxi driver. He settles back into his own seat to sulk.

On the radio, REO Speedwagon choruses, “I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for; it’s time to bring this ship into the shore, and throw away the oars, forever…” and the driver hums along.

Steve’s hand finds its way into his jacket pocket, where his fist closes around Jonathan’s number.

--

“Hey,” Steve nearly sings, as soon as the call goes through. “Hi. Sorry, I— I know it’s late,” which is technically true, even if he has no idea what time it actually is. But based on the moonlight streaming through the window in the kitchen, he’s breaking several social rules. “I just… It’s, um, it’s Steve. Harrington, in case, uh, you know any other Steves…?”

A woman answers. The receiver slips right out of Steve’s hands and he curses modern, cordless technology, fumbling to grab it before he drops the phone, or worse, the call. “… afraid I don’t know any Steves at all. Can I help you, young man?”

“Oh, shit.” The woman inhales sharply, and Steve’s mind supplements an image of Byers, Joyce. Shit. Of course. “I’m sorry, uh, I’m calling for Jonathan? If he’s even home?”

Sounding much less friendly, the woman pauses. “I don’t know who you mean, but this is a new number. If you’re trying to reach the Byers family—”

“Yes, exactly, yeah, Jonathan Byers—”

“They don’t live here anymore.” Steve crumples up the paper and tosses it, furiously, into the sink. “I have their forwarding number, if it’s very important…?”

“It’s urgent,” Steve assures her, scrambling to find something to write on. He ends up grabbing his father’s fountain pen and writing Jonathan’s new number painfully across the back of his hand.

After apologizing and wishing the wrong number a good night, Steve stares at those messy, ink-blotted digits. Before he can give himself cold feet, he dials the number; he doesn’t breathe once the whole time it rings.

The line picks up again. This time Steve is more cognizant that it might be Joyce, or even worse, Will— the kid would definitely recognize his voice, and while Steve is sure that Jonathan’s impossibly kind younger brother would support him in this late-night endeavor, he’s also sure that Mike Wheeler would definitely hear about it. Which would ruin the entire scheme, of course.

The scheme, which seemed so infallible back at Family Video, swims and wavers in his head now. Steve tries to go through the plan point by point, but it all falls to pieces when a groggy, familiar voice says through the receiver, “Hello?”

“Hey,” Steve says. He leans against the kitchen island, exhaling all the air in his lungs. “Hi. It’s Steve. … Harrington.”

“I only know one Steve,” Jonathan says, dry as a desert. Steve smiles nervously. “Why are you calling? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, all quiet on the Western front.” This nets him a chuckle from Jonathan, so he soldiers on: “I was just wondering, you know, uh… if you wanted to come over?”

Puzzled, Jonathan asks bluntly, “What? Why?”

“I was thinking about you,” says Steve, leaning into it hard. He has charisma, or at least, he once did— he knows how to do this part. “Thinking maybe you could come over and we could fool around.”

Nobody has ever hung up so fast.

Steve stares at the dead phone in his hand. He wonders about the vicious gossip that he’d heard back in high school about Jonathan Byers, that he was more than just weird and a loner. Maybe those rumors really were nothing but rumors spread by small-minded townies. Steve’s parents aren’t home. It would be so easy for him to break into his father’s liquor cabinet. He could probably knock himself out within the hour, and sleep off this whole bad idea. He could laugh about it with Robin tomorrow night at work— I wanted to do what last night? I got some girl’s phone number out of the system? Man, no, I went straight home and went to bed. On an unrelated topic, I need to update the contact information on the Byers file.

Steve presses the redial button.

It rings for a little longer this time, and he can just picture Jonathan deciding whether or not to pick up, leaning over his own kitchen counter with a vein jumping out of his forehead behind his messy, home-cut bangs. Sure enough, when the call does get picked up, Jonathan sounds even more stressed than usual. He demands, “Is this a joke?”

If he’s wrong, and Jonathan’s not that type of person, and he tells Nancy… Steve shakes off the doomed train of thought. “No,” he says, firmly. “Not a joke.” 

Jonathan swears softly, so soft that Steve was sure he wasn’t meant to hear it, then: “Are you drunk?”

“Well, yeah,” he admits. Jonathan sighs loud enough to nearly blow the speaker. “What about you?”

“No.” A pause. “I think I should probably be a lot less sober for this.”

“That’s the spirit,” Steve cheers. “Where are you? Can you come over?”

Just as he’s starting to get butterflies, Jonathan cuts through the excitement with a deadpan, “California.”

“California?” He squints at the number on his hand. Is eight-one-eight the area code for California? “What the fuck? Is Nancy there with you?”

“Um.” A very pregnant pause. “No?”

“What… are you… Are you on vacation?”

Once more, Jonathan sighs. “What do you want, Steve?”

“I told you,” he replies, and even to his own ears he sounds bitchy. He adjusts, softening his tone a bit. “Just wanna make you feel good, Jonathan. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“You haven’t exactly kept in touch,” Jonathan retorts, although his voice sounds different now. Steve listens keenly but he can’t hear anything else on the line except the complaining. “I mean, you thought I still lived in Hawkins, and I’ve been gone this whole school year.”

“Well, we’re not exactly friends,” Steve parrots back. That shuts the other boy up alright. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think about you.”

“Steve—”

“Even tonight, hanging out with a friend, I was thinking about you. Should’ve been thinking about girls. I was thinking about you.” Steve frowns. “You and stupid Ashley Williams.”

“Listen,” tries Jonathan. “You’re just drunk—”

“Even back when we were in school together I would think about you,” he admits, low. “Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? I heard what everyone said about you. Couldn’t get it out of my head. It wasn’t the first time I heard that someone could be… like that, but it was the first time I saw a boy and thought that I might be like that.”

What had the scheme been again? Call Nancy Wheeler’s queer boyfriend, rile him up a little? Get him to tell Nancy about it and make her all jealous? What is his endgame here, because only boys who like boys talk to boys about the things he’s talking to Jonathan about right now— and Jonathan isn’t even really reciprocating.

The soft breath is the only sign of life from California. Steve closes his eyes, swaying against the kitchen counter. “And I was so, so fucking stupid back then. That’s how I lost Nance, and that’s how come I treated you like… just like garbage. I broke your stupid camera, and I pushed you around, and when people gave you a hard time I didn’t say shit. I basically made your life hell.”

“You bought me a new camera,” says Jonathan quietly.

“Aw, c’mon, Nance.” Steve grimaces. “That was supposed to be a secret.”

“And I wasn’t the best person back then either. I mean, I can’t think about how I acted in junior high without dying a little bit on the inside. But… um… doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it,” Jonathan tells him, in that same quiet voice. Steve wonders if he’s trying to stay quiet so he doesn’t wake up his family. Even when Jonathan had repulsed Steve, he’d always been secretly jealous of the closeness of the Byers clan. “And… uh, all that stuff you said, um… I used to think about it too. About… you and Nancy, mostly. It was wrong, I know, and—”

Steve interrupts, “Was it?” He sounds as wild as he feels. “Was it wrong?”

“Um…”

“You home alone, Jonathan?”

“I, uh.” Now there is a rustling on the other side of the line. “Will and El are at a sleepover camp thing for school, and my mom’s working nights this week at this temporary… um… Are we really— I mean, are you really…”

Steve hums. “I’m home alone. Didn’t even ask where my parents are, and they didn’t volunteer the information. But it means I’ve got this big place all to myself.”

Shallowly, Jonathan sucks in air. “Where are you?”

“The kitchen.”

That shocks a surprised laugh out of the other boy, which in turn makes Steve smile bashfully. “You can’t— you can’t have phone sex in the kitchen,” he scolds Steve. “People make food in there! Go to your bedroom, you fucking freak.”

“Look who’s suddenly an expert on phone sex,” Steve teases.

He goes anyway, heading slowly and normally towards the second floor until Jonathan casually drops, “Well, I have been in a long-distance relationship since September.”

Steve trips up the stairs, dropping the phone for the second time tonight. When he picks it up Jonathan is still there, breathing just as softly. Steve takes the rest of the stairs four at a time. He lunges for his bed and collapses there like a dead weight, still wearing his work clothes. Shit, he’s still wearing his shoes. He hears soft laughter coming down the line and, embarrassed about his heavy breathing, demands hotly, “You and Nancy have phone sex?”

“It would be pretty hard to have any other kind of sex two thousand miles apart.” That dry humor is doing terrible, insane things to his body right now. Steve chews his lip, closes his eyes, and fumbles with the button on his jeans. “So you get pretty good at discussing, and imagining. And waiting.”

“The first two sound alright.”

“Waiting can be fun too,” Jonathan tells him gently; his voice is so soft and low that Steve doesn’t realize he’s being seduced until his pulse has already risen. “But, yeah, talking is Nancy’s big thing. … I’m sure you remember that.”

Steve makes a face, giving up on his zipper. What he remembers about his sex life with Nancy is mostly too sad to dwell on, except during his most pathetic, embarrassing shower sessions and wet dreams. Things were good between them, of course— she’s the most beautiful woman on the planet— but after that pivotal time at the party, in this very bedroom, things were never the same. Sex with Steve had begun to remind Nancy of her dead friend, which would have been a mood-killer for Clark and Lois. Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised when she dumped his ass for Jonathan.

“What about this?” Steve imagines that Jonathan is right next to him on the bed instead of two thousand miles away. He turns his head to face the other pillow, but his eyes stay firmly closed. “Shouldn’t you… talk to Nancy about this?”

Once again, Jonathan effortlessly flips his world upside down with a sentence: “We did.” He sounds almost amused. “That’s why I hung up on you. I freaked out, and called her.”

Steve sits up so fast his head spins. “You called her? You— what did you tell her?”

“I told her you were drunk and trying to hook up with me,” says Jonathan, like it’s not a big deal at all. “And then her mother kicked her off the phone and chewed me out for calling the house so late.”

“But,” splutters Steve, “what did Nancy say?”

“She was really excited,” Jonathan admits. Steve, himself, is really excited— in fact, he thinks he might throw up for reasons entirely unrelated to the consumption of alcohol. “She asked for details, and I said I’d let her know if you called back. Then Mrs. Wheeler got on the line.”

He stares at the empty walls of his room, desperately trying to make sense of what Jonathan is telling him. “She wasn’t mad?”

“She was furious. Kept going on about time zones and all that shit.”

“Jonathan, I mean Nancy.”

“Steve, I know. I’m just teasing. You sound so tense.” Steve wonders how any man could feel relaxed while hearing this information. “Yeah, she was excited, and… a little nervous; she warned me it might have been a prank or something, but then I said ‘what if it’s not’, and she said ‘well, if it’s not, then obviously’… yeah.”

Steve gapes. “Obviously?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan echoes. “And asked for details.”

“Makes sense,” he says, weakly. “She’s a great reporter.”

“So, details.” Jonathan’s voice sinks down again, and Steve mirrors the change in tone, lying back down. He’s still reeling from the news that his plot to make Nancy jealous has been found dead in the water, and instead it seems that Jonathan and Nancy have machinations of their own. “Did you listen to what I said?”

“About Nancy?”

“About leaving the kitchen. Where are you now, Steve?”

“Oh. The— my bed.”

Jonathan exhales, “Good,” and Steve starts to melt. “And what are you doing right now in your bed?”

“Taking my shoes off,” he answers honestly, which startles another laugh out of Jonathan.

“That’s… a good place to start, I guess. How drunk are you, man?”

“I just feel… I don’t know. I feel good.” Keeping up the honesty is probably a good bet. “I like that you told Nancy. I like that she… likes the idea. She’s thinking about it, maybe.”

The line is silent, but live with Jonathan’s breathing. Steve’s chest rises and falls in sync. “Thinking about what, exactly?”

Right. Details. “This isn’t what I’d pictured,” Steve tells him. “I never imagined you out in California. In my head, you’re still the same scrawny, skinny kid forever stuck in Hawkins. Doesn’t make sense, you living so far away. Do you have a tan now?”

“Not really,” he admits, sounding sheepish. “I look pretty much the same. Taller, maybe.”

“I doubt it. Bet you’re still small enough for me to pick you up, toss you around.”

“You could try it,” Jonathan huffs.

“Bet you’re used to taking the lead with Nancy,” Steve continues, closing his eyes again. He kicks off his other shoe. “You ever been with someone bigger than you? I mean, someone who could really put you where they wanted?”

“You’re not so big,” says Jonathan. He sounds uncertain— it sends goosebumps down Steve’s arms. “Where would you want to put me?”

“I’d like to pin you down and watch your face as I get you off.” The reaction is immediate— the bitten-off gasp is a sound Steve will treasure forever. “I would want you in my bed, in my car… I don’t know. Everywhere. I’d want you to ride me.”

“Jesus.”

“I’d ride you too,” Steve hastens to add. “I’m not totally unfair.”

Jonathan makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a whimper.

“I used to think about making you suck me off, back when I was still kind of learning what blowjobs were and so they were pretty much all I could ever think about. You have a really pretty mouth,” he goes on even as Jonathan’s breath hitches, “and I think you would look good on your knees.”

“I do,” Jonathan says. “I mean, I would, I— Nancy tells me all the time.”

“What, you suck her off?” Steve laughs, except the noise kind of dies in his throat because Jonathan doesn’t laugh too. He puts the phone down, suddenly desperate to be free of his clothing. Throwing his work vest and shirt towards the dresser, followed by his jeans and briefs, he lies back down and repeats his question. “You go down on her?”

“Of course,” says Jonathan, kind and sweet and kind of dirty. Steve shuffles around until he’s comfortable under the blankets, and he can hold the phone in one hand and his dick in the other. He would usually grab lotion from his bedside table, maybe stop at a non-family video store on the way home from work to pick up a tape. Right now he doesn’t need any of that; he’s too close just from the sound of Jonathan’s voice. “I could do that for you too. I never thought it was something you’d want.”

“Well, you know what they say, Byers.” Steve palms himself, fucking in and out of his fist slowly. It’s too hot, too sensitive, too intimate. He clenches, his muscles tightening as he thinks about Jonathan doing the same. “If you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

Sure enough, there’s a quiet noise other than Jonathan’s voice. The connection isn’t clear enough for him to hear everything, but he can connect the dots. Jonathan says, still sounding strangled, “Did you manage to get your shoes off?”

“Yeah, now I’m working on getting my rocks off.”

A groan, low and a second too long. “Ugh. Nancy could’ve warned me you liked to tell jokes in bed.”

“What, am I not cool enough for you, California? Should I, like, tone it down, brochacho?”

“You’re kidding, but I do actually have a friend out here who sounds exactly like that.” Steve speeds up, his hips thrusting forward in small, jerky movements as Jonathan talks. God, he’s in so much trouble if he’s just getting off to the sound of the guy’s voice. He twists his wrist for a better angle as Jonathan continues, “You’re plenty cool enough for me, Indiana.”

“Hey, you’re Indiana too,” Steve reminds him. “God, I’m so— can you do more of the phone sex stuff?”

“Who says this isn’t the phone sex stuff? Maybe two guys jerking off together, talking about the state they grew up in is high-quality phone sex,” Jonathan teases. Now who’s telling jokes in bed? “You want me to give you the serious script, Harrington?”

“I want you to stop fucking around and put me on loudspeaker,” Steve gasps.

For a beat, Jonathan is silent. Then he does; the audio quality is slightly different, and Steve can more clearly hear skin-on-skin. Jonathan picks up the pace and Steve matches his rhythm, groaning through grinding teeth. When Jonathan speaks, he sounds nervous now. “Better?”

“Almost,” Steve says. “I want you to touch yourself. Keep touching yourself, the way you do when you do this with your girlfriend.” Jonathan’s breath hitches, and the sounds pick up— they are filthy in the best way. Steve is beyond glad they’re both home alone. His legs shake as he keeps going. “Except it’s different, right? When Nancy gets off she seizes up, right, like her whole body goes tight. With us, it’s different, and I want to hear you, wanna hear every part of it. I want you to ruin those fucking sheets.”

“Fuck,” gasps Jonathan. Steve tightens his grip too. “I wish—” and then before he can deliver that wish, he’s grunting, loud and primal and unmistakably masculine, as he comes all over himself. Steve can just picture it, those nimble, pale fingers wrapped around his dick— except he doesn’t exactly know what Jonathan’s dick looks like, so he has to make do with thinking about his own. And right as he’s about to sail over the edge, Jonathan breathes, “I bet Nancy’s getting off right now too.”

Well. It’s embarrassing how instantaneous Steve’s orgasm is after he hears that.

After all the discussing and imagining, as Jonathan had called it, they both come down slowly and in shared, comfortable silence. Steve sinks back down to sober, cold Earth like a fluttering leaf, and even after the reality of what just happened hits him he still doesn’t feel ready to accept it. The hard, unflinching truth is that Steve feels better right now than he ever has after sex, and Jonathan isn’t even here. He thinks he almost feels better right now than he ever has in his entire life. Uh oh.

“So,” Steve finally breaks the quiet post-orgasm haze lingering between them. “Are you coming home for spring break?”

[dragonmage08]

While I'm talking about people whining about "censorship" and "localization" that's literally just putting slightly more clothes on often young female characters and some other silly shit and justifications for their melodrama here and there, these people have absolutely nothing to bitch about in the grand scheme of things. Most of these dorks who whine about sony censorship or nisa translation or whatever like it's the end of the world and cry wolf when some 13 year old anime girl gets more clothing in a worldwide release have absolutely no real issue to complain about, because these mostly console focused jrpg fans don't even know how good they have it. When there's something that some company might not like or think won't look good in their own market, they just change it slightly by again maybe adding more clothing and changing some words or terms here and there and releasing it that way, and that's generally the type of stuff that the anti censorship nerds complain about. But the thing is that at least they aren't at risk of not getting the game they want release at all based on the inconsistent whim of whatever racist ass nigga is looking at it in the moderation team of the biggest storefront in gaming that can make or break a game's worldwide sales especially whether it gets released on there or not. Anti censorship nerds who complain about console jrpgs being slightly changed don't deal with half as much as visual novel fans that have to cross their fingers and hope steam doesn't abrbitrarily decide to give some of the greatest games in the medium and their companies the middle finger and completely fuck their sales in the process over racist ass double standards that'd never get a triple a or more western looking game banned. It's not exclusively something visual novels deal with on steam so much as any game that looks even vaguely "anime", but it's still a world of difference to just outright potentially never get a game officially released in english at all based on the sheer inconsistent and mind changing whim of whoever happens to be looking at it that they and deciding whether they're going to get racist about it or not.

[2af-afterdark]

(Excuse me, this shall be a ramble)

So, I was playing WHB before an exam this morning, and I started going through the opinions area to like a few comments and get a few extra gems, and I got to Eligos and saw a couple folks that were surprised about Eligos being a tank/defense demon. And it just kinda occurred to me:

I've never stopped to think about the fact that Eligos is tank/defense before.

Like, he looks like such an adorable and not at all beefy twink, his design absolutely doesn't scream tank. At all. Especially not when compared to all the other tank/defense demons. But thinking about it, that's kind of perfect, to me at least.

He's literally the definition of "looks can be deceiving"

For example, a scenario obviously outside of game mechanics:

Imagine being an enemy, you look at a demon like Valefor in his tough and bulky armor and you think, "I need to hit that bitch really hard, like harder than the other ones, cuz he can clearly take a hit"

Then, imagine seeing Eligos, this cutesy-looking scrawny twink of a demon, covered in soft bows and delicate ribbons, with no armor. The first assumption would probably be "Too easy, he probably can't even take a punch". As an enemy, you'd probably attack him like a normal enemy, or maybe not even put as much effort because you assume he's not that tough.

Now imagine being the enemy, taking a half-assed swing at the scrawny guy, slamming your weapon into his stomach. Only for the scrawny guy that you assumed was weak, to take the hit the hit without any difficulty. And then you get punched in the face really hard because you're too caught off guard to swing your weapon again in time.

In short, Eligos doesn't look like the stereotypical defense character, and I think that's absolutely perfect, both in concept and visuals.

(Plus, the idea of something twice Eligos' size trying to punch him, and Eligos just reacting like the giant buff enemy in every hero franchise, the kind where they don't flinch at all and the hero realizes they fucked up before getting hit back, is absolutely hilarious to me)

Personally, I have been a weeb, dork, gamer, nerd since the very moment I was born (grew up in my local sci-fi convention circuit) so the idea of a twink with tank abilities is nothing new to me. Designs are more for fun or, for some parts (like color), are symbolic. Plus, there is the concept of moe, where the gap between a character's looks and personality is part of the appeal.

Eligos is a character who likes being cute and adorable and pampered, but he is also incredibly violent, gluttonous, and tanky. Specifically, he's the kind of tank that takes the hits for his allies, which kind of goes against the idea of wanting to be pampered. It's entirely possible that he leans more naturally toward a tank-like fighting style, and that explains why he wants to be cute and pampered outside of battle. His bottomless stomach could also be explained by him needing all those extra calories in order to prepare for the next time he needs to fight. Or, he has a very high metabolism and that keeps him thin no matter how much he eats.

Eligos is just a very traditional example of gap moe and I love him! I am still hoping for josou seme Eligos, but I doubt we will be getting that.